


The Lexicon of Scully

by Lysandra31



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysandra31/pseuds/Lysandra31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Kroner, Mulder can't seem to keep his cool around Scully.</p>
<p>Post-ep for "The Rain King."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lexicon of Scully

 

 

Title:  The Lexicon of Scully

Author:  Lysandra

E-Mail:  Lysandra@socal.rr.com or Lysandra31@hotmail.com

Spoilers: Rain King; tiny one for FTF

Category:  V/H/UST

Rating:  R (sexual thoughts/language)

Keywords: Post-episode for Rain King

Disclaimer:  Mulder, Scully, and the rest belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox.  I make no profit from this odd little hobby.

Summary :  Ever since Kroner, Mulder can't seem to keep his cool around Scully.

Archive:  Please contact me first, thank you.

 

The Lexicon of Scully

Something very odd happened in Kroner, Kansas.  Strike that - a lot of odd things happened there. Kroner may seem like a normal little Midwestern town, but normal rarely applies when Mulder is involved, and this was no exception.

Mulder had dragged me off to that little dustbowl of a town without filling me in on the details of the case.  Typical.  He didn't fill me in on the flight from DC, and he didn't fill me in on the little propeller plane into Kroner, either.  It's just pure Mulder to keep me in the dark and let me hear about the situation from the town's mayor.

Half the town had been under the mistaken impression that a one-legged blowhard who claims to be one thirty-second Choctaw Indian could control the rainfall in Kroner and the outlying areas.  They couldn't have been more wrong, of course.  The so-called "Rain King" turned out to be a complete and utter phony, as I had known all along.

And now that we're back in DC, in AD Kersh's office, it's up to me, as always, to smooth things over with the Bureau brass.  Mulder can be such a moron sometimes; I have no idea why I put up with him.  Yes, he's very attractive, but I'm over it.

Kersh asks why we had flown off to Kroner without authorization.  I sense that Mulder is one smartass remark away from a reprimand, and, being the sensible one in this partnership, I decide to stop him before he blows it. I silently place my hand on his, and he keeps his mouth shut.  Good.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Agent Mulder?"

Scully is touching me.

"Agent Mulder."  Now it's a statement.  An accusation.

Scully is touching me.

A moment ago, she'd put her hand on top of mine to warn me against saying something stupid, and still it remains there, with her fingers lightly touching the back of my hand.  This isn't a big deal, right?

I try to focus.  Not on Scully, or Scully's hand, but on AD Kersh, front and center, completely unamused.

His voice drips with sarcasm.  "Nice to have you back, Agent Mulder."]

I say the only thing I can, since I haven't heard a word he's said.

"...Sir.  You were saying?"

"I was saying, Agent Mulder, that once again you have stretched my patience to the limit, dragging Agent Scully off to where...?"  Kersh scans the report in front of him, and goes on, "...Kroner, Kansas.  Because some idiot says he can make it *rain*?  Agent Mulder, the *weather* does not fall under the auspices of the FBI!"

I'm trying to listen, truly I am, but Scully's still touching me, and I think I'm beginning to sweat.  I feel intense heat, fire even, all over my body.  It starts in my left hand, the one she's touching, and courses through my arm, past my shoulder, through the veins in my neck, toward my brain.  Is that my medulla oblangata boiling?  Flames shoot through my face, my hair, and sizzle back down my throat, which is tightening up.  The heat engulfs the air in my lungs and burns the blood in my heart.  Was that mypancreas or my liver that just exploded from the sheer heat of Scully's touch on my hand?

Oh God, no, please, not here, I think.  Not in Kersh's office.  I can feel it beneath my skin, there it is, that intense shudder in my groin....  _No, please,_ I plead silently, _please, Scully, let go of my hand, you're killing me.  Stop touching me, please...._

I venture a glance to my left, wondering if smoke is coming out of my ears like in a cartoon.  _C'mon, Scully, help me out here._

Her clear blue eyes question mine for just a moment.  Does she even know they're the exact color of Windex?

      * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The X-Files will be the death of me, that's all there is to it.  Not only do I have to answer to the Director about Mulder and Scully's questionable activities, but they're actually sitting in my office, _holding hands_ while I bawl them out.  I cannot believe this shit.

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh, this is bad.  Mulder's sweating profusely.  I hope he's not coming down with something.  Every time Mulder gets sick, I end up with the same thing, only worse.  And I do _not_ want to catch something that makes me sweat like Mulder's sweating right now.  It's just not ladylike.

In 1978, Kevin Latimer took me to see a Saturday matinee of "Grease," and when John Travolta grabbed Olivia Newton-John's hand in the malt shop, I grabbed Kevin's hand.  I still don't know why.  But I distinctly remember Kevin sweating all over my hand before he pulled his hand away.

Kersh is droning on again, and I'm doing my best to pay attention, because I can see that Mulder's off in a dreamland.  What's his problem?  Ohhh, it dawns on me.  He has the same look in his eyes that Kevin got when I'd grabbed his hand in the movies.  Mulder's eyes tell me to please stop touching him, and since I don't want him to spontaneously combust here in Kersh's office, I snatch my hand away as inconspicuously as possible.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Scully mercifully breaks contact, as if her hand has been burnt by my blazing skin.  Actually, she just slowly removes her hand, and puts it in her lap, chastely clasping her other hand.  _God, Scully, aren't you on fire?  How can you be so steady when I'm walking on hot coals here?_

When did all this happen?  When did I become so coupled with Scully?  Sure, she's my partner, and my friend, but how long have people been thinking she was my girlfriend, my  _wife_?  Everywhere we went in Kroner, there they were, saying things like, "If I'da known you were bringin' the wife..." and "I see the way you gaze at her."

Yeah, thanks, Holman, for throwing my own advice back in my face.  "You should try it sometime," he said, like I should play true confessions with my partner, telling her about all these pent up raging hormonal love feelings.

Obviously Holman knows absolutely nothing about Special Agent Dana Scully, if he thinks it's a good idea for me to bare my soul to this woman.  Hell, I've bared so much already she practically knows me inside out, and the more she knows, the less she likes, I think.  But somehow she still manages to have a semblance of respect for my work, and my theories, and I thank my lucky stars that she didn't shoot me over that Chupacabra incident. Telling her I'm in love with her, well, at this point that's out of the question.

When would it be a good time to bring it up? _Hey Scully, we've got to go investigate some purple ooze in a small town in Indiana, and oh yeah, you've been the object of all my fantasies since the day I met you._   I don't think so.  _Scully, it's me - Can you come over to my place right away? I've got something I need you to look at_.  Yeah, right.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Christ, he's looking at her like a puppy dog.  He's not listening to a word I say.  Do I have to yell at him?  I'm too old for this.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My mind slowly, sluggishly, returns to Kersh's office.  Too slowly for Kersh's liking, apparently.

"Agent Mulder!"

Shit.  How long has he been talking to me?  I gaze at Scully.  I think of what Holman said in Kroner,  and think back to my response.  ‘I do not _gaze_ at Scully...’  Yeah, I gaze.  I'm gazing at her right now, gazing like a smitten schoolboy.  God, how can anyone be expected to not gaze at her?  She's like a painting, too good to be real, frozen in perfection, in Scullyness.  Everyone gazes at Scully, don't they?  God, how can she sit there, so perfectly...still?  She's not squirming like I am, she's just ... sitting, like it's simply another day of getting reamed by Kersh as usual.

"MULDER!"

Shit-shit-shit.

"Sir, may I say something?"

Did I say that?  No, I don't think so.  It's a female voice, a low, liquid sexy voice... Scully's voice.  God, Scully's voice...

" _Blah blah blah_ Kroner _blah blah blah_ weatherman _blah blah blah_ it really did rain, sir, after Mulder had a talk with him, _blah blah._.."

I float off into space, surrounded by the velvety sound of her, not quite able to make out her words, but they don't really matter; just to hear those tones all around me, my ears vibrating at the sound of her voice...

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I've got to give Scully credit for standing by this asshole all this time; she could be head of the Forensics Department if she wanted.  And instead she's trying desperately to explain away Mulder's actions, as she always does.  She must have it bad for him.  I still can't believe I lost a coin toss to get saddled with these two.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I sneak another look at Mulder, and he's blushing.  Either that, or he really is coming down with something.  Sometimes, I swear to God, Mulder looks at me like I'm the only woman in the world.  Pathetic.  You know those days when you just can't stand the sight of your best friend?  This is one of those days.

Mulder is staring at me again, and his eyes are glazing over.  His cheeks are flushed, too.  My gaze wanders as I survey the wreckage in the chair next to me, and it becomes quite clear what Mulder's problem is this morning.  He's got a raging hard on, right here in the AD's office.  I have to stifle a laugh.  Poor Mulder.  I've never known a man to have less control over his dick than him.  I've gotten quite used to seeing him squirm in his trousers -- Mulder's penis has a mind of its own, it really does.  It decides to stand at attention in the office, when we're driving, on airplanes - there's no stopping that thing.  Not that I think he ever gets any real use out of it.  It's a shame, really.  I mean, I've seen him naked on more than one occasion, and it's pretty impressive, as far as my limited experience with the penises of live men tells me.  Sometimes I think he's saving it for a special occasion, and I'm quite sure that when that occasion arises, so to speak, Mulder's dick will be ready, willing, and able.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"... _Blah blah_ , I supposed this is like an X-File, sir, albeit for once it had a happy ending, _blah blah_... Agent Mulder thinks love saved the day..."

Bang!  Her silky voice is gone, replaced by a hard, cold, male voice. Kersh.  Oh yeah, we're being bawled out by Kersh.  It's all coming back to me now.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Right now, Mulder's useless.  He can't form a sentence.  Luckily, I am able to answer Kersh's questions even while I'm thinking about Mulder's cock.  Kersh is still bawling us out, and I am pulling us out of a hole Mulder dug, as usual.  Jesus, he must be uncomfortable.  It's a good thing one of us can multi-task.  They're not really questions, they're more like attacks, but that's just par for the course.  God, I wonder what it would feel like in my hand.  I tell Kersh that maybe, just maybe, Mulder was right, although there's really no empirical proof that Holman Hardt was controlling the weather.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Who do these two think they're kidding?  They slept in the same room on the road, they were holding hands a minute ago, and now, well, now he's got an erection, and she's staring at it.  I can't take much more of this.  I've got to get them out of here immediately.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"And why does Agent Scully have two nights on her hotel bill while you only have one, Agent Mulder?"

I try to open my mouth.  Why did I sleep in Scully's room again?  Would ‘I wanted to listen to her sleep’ be a good enough explanation for the AD?

Somehow I think not, and no other excuse comes to my lips.

Ahhh, there it is again.  Dana Scully's voice, bathing my soul with pure pleasure.  Sunflower seeds.  Iced tea.  The Knicks.  Porn.  All the good things in life come to mind when Scully speaks.

"Sir," she says, "We realize it's against bureau policy for agents of the opposite sex to share quarters while on assignment, but it couldn't be avoided. Agent Mulder's room was destroyed by a flying cow, and..."

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The words I hear coming out of my mouth astound me.  Even after all these years working on the X-Files, I'm still sometimes stunned by how much I've changed and how ridiculous I must sound talking about flying cows.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Scully is obviously trying to kill me.  Can a person die from suppressing laughter?  How am I supposed to keep any semblance of control over these two while it takes everything in me to keep a straight face?  Jesus Christ, flying cows?

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kersh interrupts me.  "Agent Scully, did you say 'a flying cow?’"

"Yes, sir ... It's in the report ... A cow was picked up by a small tornado, and it crashed through the roof of Agent Mulder's hotel room.  As a matter of fact, he barely escaped death from ... from frozen beef..."

And that does it for me.  I really have to make a note to myself for the future:  Don't think about Mulder's penis while we're with our boss.  I start to giggle.  Like a teenager.  I can't help it; I've got Little Mulder two feet away, wanting to come out to play, and the word ‘beef’ just did it to me.  It's my own fault, I know; it came out of my own mouth, but still I can't help laughing.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The world as I know it changes forever.  Dana Scully lets loose a laugh -- no, even better -- a giggle.

Thank you God, oh thank you thankyouthankyou, I'll go to confession forever and tell you everything I've ever done wrong, every thought, every deed, every everything, if you'll make her giggle for even one more second.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I put on my best indignant expression.  If she doesn't stop laughing this second, I'll lose it for sure.  I want another coin toss.  There must be something I can trade.  Maybe I can trade Laura to AD Forrest.  He's just stupid enough to want a gorgeous blonde for his assistant.  I'd rather have someone who can type more than 35 words a minute.  And someone who doesn't take long lunches catting around would be nice.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Agent Scully!"

Damn Kersh to a thousand Hells!  His evil gruff voice eclipses Scully's throaty laugh, her sexy giggle... Hey, giggling isn't sexy, it's something pre-teen girls do when they're at the mall, isn't it?  God, pre-teen Scully...  _No, Mulder, get your mind out of the gutter, Scully's all grown up, and she's not a giggler anyway._   But, this was definitely a giggle, a sexy Scully giggle.  Scullygiggle.  That's a new word, isn't it?  I'm coining words to describe her; all the regular Oxford Webster Roget words don't apply to Scully; she needs her own Scully words.  The Lexicon of Scully.

Scully's voice becomes Scully's voice again.  "I'm sorry, Sir.  There was ... livestock in Agent Mulder's room, and the hotel didn't have any more available.  Sir, Agent Mulder slept on a cot.  He was a perfect gentleman, I can assure you.  And with the weather being so unpredictable, and the cow ... Frankly, Sir, I feared for Mulder's safety had he slept in the car like he wanted to."

Slept in the car like I wanted to?  Is Scully lying for me?  True, nothing had happened, and I _had_ slept on that little kiddie cot, but I had never even considered sleeping in the car.  Not for a second.  Not for a millimeter of a moment.  Scully had those black silk pajamas with her, I'd seen her pack them, and there was no way I wasn't going to listen to them rustle against the sheets all night if I had the chance.  The car, indeed.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Does she really expect me to believe this crock of shit?

I wonder if Mulder's regained the power of speech.  Let's find out.  "Agent Mulder, is that correct? You slept on a cot?"

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Yes, Sir."  _Hooray for me, I got out a cogent sentence - can I go now, please?  I've got an erection the size of Kroner, Kansas, and I've really got to get out of this office before I start my own weather system..._

"Fine, then. But listen to me, agents, and listen good. You've been on thin ice..."

That's it.  Scully loses it completely.  I can feel her anger swimming through the room like a shark on the prowl.  God, she's rearing up like a lioness; she's going to positively devour Kersh.  What is he, a hyena?  A wildebeest?  Whatever, Scully's going to eat him alive and spit him out and leave his carcass for the vultures.

She's out of her chair, leaning over Kersh's desk, oh look at her hair, it's changing color, like fire...

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Scully leans over my desk, her hair flaming extra red in the light, her eyes a raging sea of blue.  Jesus, I see now why Mulder can't pay attention. This woman is sex on a stick when she's mad.  And knowing Mulder, she's mad all the time.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Sir, did you say … thin ice?"  Her voice is smooth and even, it's just Special Agent Dana Scully speaking to her superior like any other day.  How does she do that?  How does she go into Scully mode just like that, when Kersh has just insulted her, inadvertently or not?  God, she's amazing and brave and a beautiful lioness, and her voice is like hot chocolate dribbling on my chin.  I actually lift a hand to wipe it off, and am surprised to find only razor stubble sandpapering my fingers.

Kersh felt Scully's metamorphosis from subordinate to predator, he must have.  Is he sitting down, surrendering, admitting his mistake?  God, he is! Scully's voice has lulled him into submission too.  Go, Scully, go!  Tear him limb from limb!

"Will that be all, Sir?"  Now her voice is chocolate milk, innocent Catholic schoolgirl, Dana turn-in-the-report-promptly Scully.

Kersh's voice holds only the tiniest hint of defeat, but it's there.  "That will be all," he says.

"Thank you, Sir."  With that, Scully pivots on her heel and walks out the door, not looking back for even a moment.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mulder's such an idiot.  I've dismissed them, Scully's left, and he's still sitting here lost in space.  I can't believe he hasn't followed her out the door.  This kid is pathetic.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jesus, she's so ... Scully.  I ponder that for a long moment, until --

"Agent Mulder, I said, that will be all."

Am I really still sitting in Kersh's office?  Haven't I gotten up and followed Scully out the door, out of the building, to the ends of the earth, or wherever she's gone?  God, what an idiot.

My whole body hurts as I rise from my chair.  How long was I sitting there? For as long as I can remember, my body has been immobilized by waves of heat and lust and Scully giggles.  I'm stiff all over, and especially stiff in places that are better left alone here in the J. Edgar Hoover Building.  But I somehow manage to get up, put one foot in front of the other, and say something resembling something to Kersh as I escape from this room, into the outer office, then the hallway.

Thank God.

And there's Scully.  Mona Lisa all over her face, just the slightest hint of a smile, a Scully giggle lurking, waiting just for me.  Nah, it can't be another Scully giggle.  Can my life really be this good?

I gingerly walk over to her, keeping a safe distance from the flame, about three feet of partnerly personal space.  And then it hits me.

The Scully giggle.  And even worse, Scully’s hand on my forearm, burning through my suit jacket, through my crisp white cotton shirt, through the hairs and skin and blood and bone, straight to my soul.

She leans on me, using my arm to hold herself up, trying valiantly to stifle that giggle.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

While I waited for Mulder to emerge from Kersh's office, I replayed the scene in my mind of that cow in his demolished hotel room, and I started to lose it again.  Mulder arrives just in time to hold me up as I dissolve into another fit of laughter.  God, he is really cute when he's aroused.  He looks like he's going to explode.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Mulder," she asks, still giggling, "Why is it that for once, I'm laughing and you're not?"

Aren't I laughing?  No, I'm not.  I'm desperately concentrating on not touching myself in the hallway outside of AD Kersh's office, that's what I'm doing.  That, and listening with rapt attention to the Scully giggle. Falling deep into the Scully abyss.  Who's holding whom up here?  Is my body actually calming down enough to keep Scully upright instead of doubled over in laughter?  And now that I think about it, what exactly has brought her to this point?

I forget my question as the Scully giggle flows over me like water.  Thank you again, God, for the giggle.  I'll be right over for that confession.  It may take a while; you might want to tell the priest to bring a sack lunch or something. ‘Forgive me, father, for I have sinned -- I've had sexual thoughts about my partner every day for over six years now.’

I don't answer Scully's question.  Somehow I just find myself back at my desk, wishing it were in the basement, instead of in this sterile room with all these other agents, swarming around me, never talking to me, never even bothering with me, but there they all are.  I hate all of them.  I wish I were back in my office, _our_ messy office, alone with Scully...

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I make a detour to the Ladies Room, and splash my face with cold water.  I'm flushed from laughing; either that, or I'm blushing too.  Being in here reminds me of a conversation I had with Sheila in Kroner; we were in the Ladies Room at the high school, and she found it very hard to believe that Mulder and I have never kissed.  Come to think of it, it is pretty hard to imagine.  I can't believe this, but I think I'm jealous of that squeaky-voiced ditzy blonde, because she, of all people, has kissed Mulder on the lips, and I haven't.  Idiot or not, those are some gorgeous lips.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

God, when did this happen?  Six years she's been my partner, for six years we've depended on each other, saved each other's asses, fought the good fight, and up until now I've been able to separate my daydreams from reality pretty successfully most of the time.  Sure, Scully's pretty, and smart, and incredibly sexy -- hell, I'm not blind -- but what was it about Kroner, Kansas that has made me become a congregant in the Church of Scully?  I'm a dues-paying Scully worshipper!

Was she affected by the weather thing?  Was I?  Is she putting off some crazy pheromone or something?  Maybe Kersh felt it too; maybe all the agents in this room are caught up in the maelstrom of Hurricane Scully.

"Mulder."

That voice, floating over me again...

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When I get to my desk, Mulder's sitting at his like a zombie.  Jesus, Mulder must suck at poker, I think.  I could win big with him; he can't bluff for shit, at least not with me.  I ask him what's wrong, just to see what he'll come up with.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Where are you today, Mulder?  You've been in a fog all morning.  What is it?

_Jesus, Scully, don't sneak up on me like that._

"Uh, I guess I'm just still back in Kansas with the weather," I say.  "You know what they say, there's no place like Kroner."  What the hell am I talking about?  She must think I've lost my mind.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He mutters something about Kroner, complete bullshit.  I decide to call him on it.

I lean in close to him, so close I can feel his breath on my face.  He is hot, I think.  Hot in more ways than one.  And I think I'm getting hot too.

"Mulder, it's _me_ ," I say, so he'll know he's not getting away with anything.  "What's going on?"

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

God, she's so close I can barely breathe.  Her Scully scent is wafting all over me.  I can't take this.  Thoughts race through my brain, mixing with memories from fucking Kansas

_Scully,  do you know how many times we touched each other in that town? You let me usher you all over the place, I had my hand right on top of that tattoo, yeah, I know exactly where it is, and you know that!  That's an erogenous zone, Scully...  Your hands were on my forehead, and you touched my hair after that cow thing... Jesus, you smell good ... You touched me again at the dance, and you swayed with me -- swayed, Scully -- while we both prayed that Holman would get up the nerve to tell Sheila he loved her. Swaying to the music, Scully, we were almost ... dancing.  Almost._

I silently pray that the words that are about to leave my mouth don't make me sound like a kid with a crush on my groovy art teacher.  "I just don't feel so great; I've got a bit of a headache, I guess."

Oh my God, she's touching me again...

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Here's my chance to torture Mulder a little more.  I put on my Dr. Scully face, and pretend to be all business as I feel his forehead.  No fever, just a case of puppy love, I think.  I've known the guy for six years, and I've never  seen him sweat like this.  He didn't sweat this much when it was ninety-six degrees in Dallas, and he was sitting in front of a ticking bomb, waiting for it to blow us all to kingdom come. But I let my hand linger on his brow just the same.  And while I do that, he's sneaking a look at my breasts.  _God, Mulder, do you have to be so obvious?  We're not alone in this room, you know._

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She's gently, so gently, caressing my forehead.  Okay, maybe it's not a caress, maybe it's Dr. Scully checking for fever, but it feels like a caress to the lovesick dork I've become.  What kind of lotion does she use?  Her fingers are so soft, whispering over my skin somewhere near my hairline. I'm probably sweating all over her.  She'll pull her hand away and it'll be dripping with my fear and love.

And then, I just can't help it.  I touch her too.  That piece of hair, that glimmering auburn slice of heaven, is just more than I can take.  I can barely feel the strands of hair in my hand, they're so light, so delicate. I push them away from her face, and the backs of my fingers glide across her forehead, so smooth, so very smooth.  Her skin can't possibly be made out of the same stuff as mine, can it?

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And he finally does one thing right this morning - he reaches out and brushes my hair out of my eyes, touching my forehead.  The coolness of his damp fingers against my hot skin makes lightning flash behind my eyes.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If I don't get out of here, away from her right now, I can't be held responsible for my actions.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh my God.  I think I just saw fireworks, and all from a little caress.  Now I'm with Mulder on the Love Train.  Shit.  We've got to leave the office, and quick, before we make fools of ourselves.

I remove my hand from his forehead, and lean even closer.  He thinks I'm going to kiss him, I can tell, but as usual, he's wrong.  I pull his head towards me, and my lips are millimeters away from his ear as I whisper: "Mulder, let's get out of here."

He pulls back a bit to look at me, and his eyes actually grow, right in front of me.  His gaze doesn't waver from mine as he grabs his jacket.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I have no idea where we're going, but I'm definitely following Scully.

     * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He's pushing me into the elevator before I know it, his hand at my back, touching my tattoo through my suit.  Something tells me he's finally going to see that damn thing.

 

** THE END **

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written back in 1999. I've made a few minor formatting and word changes for ease of reading. 
> 
> Feedback welcomed at Lysandra@socal.rr.com or Lysandra31@hotmail.com
> 
> Visit my fanfic -- it won't bite unless you want it to...  
> http://lysandrafic.livejournal.com/  
> http://www.angelfire.com/ms/lysandlys/fanfic.html


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